


Just the Pair

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sports, First Kiss, Flirting, Getting Together, Hockey Player Shiro (Voltron), Ice Skater Keith (Voltron), M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24562957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Before Kinkade approached him about it, Keith had never heard about the Sports Swap Challenge. Keith usually doesn’t bother with these sorts of dumb things to promo the Olympics— but he agreed to this one, if only because Shiro would be involved, too.Or: Olympians Shiro and Keith do a promo video together for the Sports Swap Challenge. There is a copious amount of flirting.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 160
Kudos: 801





	Just the Pair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hymnaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hymnaria/gifts).



> Request fic written for [Alexei](https://twitter.com/hymnaria), who asked for Shiro and Keith doing a promo video for the Olympics. Specifically, the Sports Swap Challenge. 
> 
> The video that this fic is based off can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yk690mB9dvU)! Some of the video's dialogue has been used in the fic itself! (Sadly, the video is not as gay as this fic is lol.) 
> 
> The biggest thank you to [Christie](https://twitter.com/appetixing) for the beta read. A GIFT AND A TREASURE.

“Keith!” 

At the sound of his name, Keith turns and Shiro’s already skating across the rink towards him, his grin wide and his arms thrown open wider still. Keith laughs and reaches out to catch Shiro as he comes gliding gently into his arms. Shiro laughs, too, and scoops Keith into a tight hug. 

As is often the case when he sees Shiro for the first time in a while, Keith’s heart erupts into a gallop, his entire body flushing with warmth. He can’t help his crush on Shiro at this point. He’s given up on trying to ignore it. It’s Shiro. Keith never stood a chance, especially since Shiro gives the best hugs. 

“Hey,” he croaks, thumping Shiro hard on the back, knowing Shiro will barely feel it through all his padding. 

“It’s so good to see you!” Shiro says, cheeks pink as he draws away. He keeps his hands on Keith’s shoulders, eyes swooping over him, as if Keith’s gone through any sort of remarkable change since they last saw each other. “You look great.” 

“You too,” Keith says and hopes he sounds even-voiced and not the least bit squeaky. Shiro always looks good. Keith clears his throat. “Ready for the cameras to catch your good side?”

He nods over towards where the crew are getting set up and ready for the promotional video, expensive lenses pointed their way. Before Kinkade approached him about it, Keith had never heard about the Sports Swap Challenge. Keith usually doesn’t bother with these sorts of dumb things to promo the Olympics— but he agreed to this one, if only because Shiro would be involved. 

“I know!” Shiro says brightly. “As soon as I heard you were the one doing it, I signed right up.” 

He says it so easily and yet it’s devastating to Keith’s stupid heart. He blushes. He does not let himself look into it. 

It’s been a few months since they last saw each other, but not even distance can be enough to make Keith forget how pretty Shiro’s smile is, how kind he always is. Encouraging, thoughtful, funny. They’ve spent many a lead-up to major events, Olympics or otherwise, just hanging out. 

It was inevitable that Keith would get a crush on Shiro. He’s talented, funny, sweet, and encouraging. And now they get to spend the day skating together. It’s not too bad a gig, even if Keith will always feel a little awkward doing scripted-unscripted promos. Despite his ease in performing, a master at the theatrical elements to his sport, he’s always felt a little uncertain in front of the camera. 

Keith is a professional. He can handle his crush. He’s been good about keeping it under wraps so far, considering how long they’ve known each other. Despite it all, he and Shiro are friends. Keith’s not about to jeopardize that. 

“Okay, guys,” Kinkade says, pausing in the endless set-up and directing of the camera crew. He turns towards them with an easy smile. “You both had a chance to look over the itinerary, right?” 

“Right!” Shiro says as Keith nods. 

“Cool,” Kinkade says, nodding gratefully. “We’ll start with pre-thoughts by the entrance, then do Keith’s skating, move to Shiro’s hockey, then wrap-up with final thoughts.” 

“Sounds good,” Keith says. 

It’s straight-forward enough. While he’s never done something lighter like this, he’s done plenty of promos with the other figure skaters that involved dramatic camera-angles, intense speeches while staring straight into the camera, and plenty of posturing. 

The Sports Swap Challenge, in comparison, is definitely something a bit goofier. At least Shiro’s got the cute smile down— it’ll fit the image. 

“Okay,” Kinkade calls to the crew. “We’re getting started, folks! Let’s get going!” 

-

The first hour is mostly just set-up, and recording Shiro and Keith entering the building— a hassle to re-record because despite Kinkade’s exasperated suggestions, Keith has no idea what he means by, _Just walk in normally._ He is walking in normally. He casts Shiro a mournful look when Kinkade sighs and suggests Keith try it again. 

Keith’s honestly relieved once they shift to recording them on the ice— which, in Keith’s mind, is much more important than establishing shots of him entering a stupid building. He’s already here. It should be obvious he entered the building at some point, whether the cameras captured it or not. But apparently Kinkade wants Keith to walk dramatically up to a door as a setting for his voice-over. 

“So just talk to one another about challenges,” Kinkade says as he signals to his crew. “Just like it said on the brief.” 

Keith sighs, crossing his arms and leaning against the rink’s wall, his toepick digging into the ice to keep him steady and upright. 

“What do you think will be the toughest challenge for you in hockey?” Shiro asks. He sounds clunky, stumbling over the words and stilted. 

It should be stupid and yet, it just endears Keith to hear and see his friend looking so awkward in front of the cameras. Keith would tease him for it if he wasn’t supposed to answer with the prescribed answer. Scripted-unscripted. Keith kind of hates it. He smiles for the cameras and hopes that Shiro can see the tease in his eyes. 

“Probably the hand-eye coordination,” Keith says. He taps his skate against the ice absently. “Don’t really need to worry about that in a routine.” He pauses for a slightly too-long breath and adds, “What about you?” 

“Those cool twisty things,” Shiro says instantly. “I’ll get dizzy.” 

Keith has very little knowledge of hockey, beyond what he’s gleaned from watching clips of Shiro or hearing Shiro recap some of his games over a beer. He’s seen one or two of Shiro’s matches and mostly just screamed when the audience screamed and cheered when the audience cheered. He’s never really been able to determine the rules beyond general team sports’ nonsense. 

He knows Shiro’s in a similar boat when it comes to figure skating— what Shiro knows, he’s learned through watching Keith. Case in point, the fact that Shiro literally just referred to spins as _those cool twisty things._

From anyone else, it’d piss Keith off. From Shiro, it’s tragically adorable. 

“Oh yeah,” he says, laughing. “Spins are fun, though.”

“I think I’m too top-heavy,” Shiro sighs, gesturing to himself. “I just fall over like a top.” 

Keith snorts and does not let his eyes linger on the broad, handsome stretch of Shiro’s chest. It’s true that he _is_ rather top-heavy but saying as much implies that he doesn’t have great strength in his legs. Shiro has excellent leg strength. Keith _does not_ look down at Shiro’s thighs.

Instead, evenly, he says, “You’ll be fine. Promise.” 

“Well,” Shiro says, “I have an excellent teacher. I can’t go wrong.” 

It’s so easy the way Shiro can turn anything into a compliment. Despite himself, Keith blushes all the more. He really does need to get a handle on that. He laughs, but he’s sure it sounds squeaky and stupid. 

He’s a mess. It’s entirely Shiro’s fault. 

Kinkade runs them through a few more lines of dialogue and explanation for the cameras, and then they break so Shiro can get into his skating costume. He gives Keith a jaunty wave as he taps off the ice, pausing to slip out of his skates and get ushered into the locker room to change. 

Keith spends the time warming up, aware of the cameras on him but not worrying about it too much. He unzips his thermal as he starts to loosen up and loop around the rink. He doesn’t do anything fancy, no spins or jumps, just some ideal crossovers as he waits for Shiro to return. 

He drops off his thermal once he’s done warming up, tossing it onto the bench outside the entrance to the rink. He’s in the deep red, sparkly getup the production team sent him for the day. It’s not as tailored as his usual pieces for shows are, but it suits its purposes. It’ll look good on camera, Keith figures. Sparkly, but not too sparkly. Deep red, but not so dark that it looks muddled. 

He glides to a halt. Waiting by the opening, he’s the first to spot Shiro when he emerges from the locker room, wearing his matching sparkly outfit— black and glittery instead of Keith’s red and glittery. 

Keith wants to burst out laughing when he sees him.

Shiro looks casually devastating and handsome even in an overabundance of rhinestones. It’s not that it’s completely counter to Shiro’s style— the few times they’ve hung out outside of practice or official Olympics meetings where they’re wearing their colors, Shiro has attacked Keith’s heart with his tendency for tight, form-fitting clothes. Even if he tends to dress in neutral colors, Keith’s definitely seen him in brighter colors, too— his style tending towards a bit more flamboyant than Keith’s regardless of their professions’ stereotypes. He still recalls that one time Shiro wore a clingy pink shirt. Keith nearly expired on the spot. 

That said, he’s never seen Shiro in rhinestones. Even that somehow looks amazing on him. Because of course it does. 

“This costume feels really understated compared to some of the things I’ve seen you wear,” Shiro admits as he steps out onto the ice. 

“You look so pretty,” Keith teases, hoping that he doesn’t look thunderstruck. He can feel how red his cheeks are, but he hopes it can be attributed to the fact that he’s standing on an ice rink and the air is always cold. 

“Not as pretty as you do,” Shiro says easily, sliding to a halt next to Keith. He nods towards Keith’s matching sparkly getup. “You always look— uh. You always look great.” 

“You should wear sparkles next time we hit up a bar,” Keith says.

“Maybe I will. If you ask nicely.” And then Shiro winks and Keith forgets to breathe. 

He absolutely refuses to wobble on his skates, sucking in a steadying breath and then forcing himself to chuckle. It comes out breathy and a little strangled, but he thinks he manages it alright. 

“Pretty please,” he says, sounding croaky. 

Shiro’s ears turn pink as he looks down at himself, laughing and fiddling with the front of his sparkly top. He fiddles, that strange mix of confident and uncertain that Shiro falls into sometimes. Keith watches him play with one of the rhinestones, working it between his fingertips.

Keith skates closer with a small clearing of his throat.

“You need to carry these sparkles,” Keith says, brushing aside Shiro’s hand and poking at one of the twinkling arcs of rhinestones on his shoulders. “You have to own the costume— if you don’t, then you’re no one.” 

Shiro looks up at him, blinking.

“Think you can handle that?” Keith asks. 

“I can be plenty theatrical if I have to be,” Shiro says and Keith breathes a sigh of relief when he punctuates the words with his steady smile. 

“Great,” Keith says, heart leaping. “I can’t wait to see your performance, then.” 

He reaches up higher, adjusting the collar of Shiro’s top for him. As he does so, though, his fingertips brush up against Shiro’s neck. Shiro shivers at the contact and Keith’s quick to tug his fingers away again. 

“Sorry,” Keith says. “My hands are cold.” 

“I don’t mind,” Shiro says. “I mean— it’s fine.” 

They stand there for that quiet moment, just looking at one another. Keith thinks he should say something, but he isn’t sure what. 

And then Kinkade breaks the silence, directing the cameras. It’s an easy, intimate set-up overall, but Shiro still seems to startle when a camera zooms in closer towards them. 

Shiro pulls his hands away. 

“Why don’t you walk us through the differences in the skates, Keith,” Kinkade suggests, giving him a stoic thumbs up. 

Keith fumbles to take up the extra skate the camerawoman holds out to him, clearing his throat a few times to try to get himself back on even footing. Shiro smiles at him, bemused and encouraging, and Keith feels out of sorts. 

He manages it, though, walking through an explanation of their two skates— Shiro’s thinner hockey blade versus Keith’s larger one. 

“The blade’s different,” Keith says, voice a little strained as he stumbles through the explanation. He tilts the prop skate towards the camera. “Usually mine’s about four millimeters, and yours is about three.” He holds it up for Shiro to see next. “And you have toe picks now— and that’s the main thing. Congratulations.” 

“Pretty sharp,” Shiro says as he runs his fingertips along the flat edge of the toe pick. “Can’t wait to fall right on my face.” 

He laughs about it, but Keith shakes his head. 

The morning goes through these sorts of fits and starts— pausing to state things to the camera, waiting for the set-up and the lighting. Shiro’s presence keeps it from being tedious, at least, and he stands warm and tall beside Keith. 

“Okay,” Keith says when Kinkade gives him the go-ahead to start skating. 

They let Keith go through a quick routine— just about two minutes worth of light jumps and spins— and Keith’s not afraid to show off, not when he has Shiro’s undivided attention. He knows that Shiro watches him perform, but it feels more intimate like this, just the two of them one-on-one (albeit with cameras). 

Keith skates closer so that he’s in front of Shiro as he crosses over into a camel spin. He could be lazy with this if he wanted to, but just as he does with all his skates, he takes it seriously and puts in his best effort. Keith isn’t a slacker, and definitely not in front of Shiro who is easily one of the hardest-working men Keith knows. 

“Like a dancer,” Shiro says when Keith stops in front of him breathing heavily. Shiro beams. “Really exceptional, Keith.” 

“It’s nothing fancy,” Keith says, demurring even as he gulps down air, but secretly feels his chest swell with affection. He smiles helplessly up at Shiro. 

“Well,” Shiro says, clapping his hands. “I think I’m ready to try jumping!” 

“You are definitely not ready to try jumping,” Keith laughs. 

“Salchow time,” Shiro says with another loud clap of his hands to punctuate his words. It’d be easy to say that Shiro’s playing it up for the cameras, but Keith knows very well that it’s just Shiro being Shiro. 

It makes Keith laugh harder. “You called a spin a ‘twirl’ and yet you know what a salchow is?” 

“I have an excellent teacher,” Shiro says with the smallest bow of his head towards Keith. “Hard not to pick up a thing or two when you’re watching someone amazing on the ice.”

“Shut up,” Keith says, pushing on Shiro’s shoulder. If his hand lingers, there’s not much to be done about it. 

“Salchow time!” Shiro says again, swaying back into Keith’s space once he’s pushed. “Or, or this thing—” Shiro says and demonstrates, holding his arms out and lifting one leg in a very rudimentary and bad arabesque pose. 

“Better straighten that leg, Shirogane,” Keith says and knocks his hand against his knee. 

Shiro laughs, like he’s thought of a joke and isn’t saying it but obediently straightens his leg. 

“How are you feeling right now, Shiro?” Kinkade calls. 

Shiro hums, ceasing his posing to look over towards the camera closest to them, lens pointed steadily on Shiro’s face. “I feel very naked on the ice. I’m really used to padding.” 

His hands drag down over his chest, fingers tracing the sparkles. Keith’s eyes dart over the full length of Shiro. Even without his padding, he looks huge and commanding. Keith clears his throat, suddenly aware of the cameras— and hoping they didn’t just hone in on his obvious once-over of his friend. 

“Don’t worry,” he says as he catches Shiro’s hand, blushing up to his ears. Shiro’s eyes flicker and dart down to their hands, then back up to meet Keith’s eyes. “I’ll protect you, Shiro. No falling today.” 

“My hero,” Shiro says without missing a beat and lets Keith pull him out further onto the ice. He’s not sure if they were done recording Shiro’s thoughts, but Keith’s ready to get this started— and ready to show off for Shiro, maybe. 

He’s also ready to have something to focus on that isn’t Shiro in his outfit. 

-

Keith runs through the set-up for the established drills from the itinerary, informing Shiro stoically about the routine he’ll perform, made up entirely of one jump and one spin. He explains the steps with his hands on his hips while Shiro gulps theatrically and mugs for the camera. 

“Hope I don’t die!” he says, staring into the camera with his eyes comically wide. 

Keith rolls his eyes. He knows the cameras catch it. 

He demonstrates for Shiro and the camera, easing into a quick crossover easily, and it’s such a basic skill, but even so he can’t help but show off, can’t help but put the littlest sway into his hips as he moves. He knows he looks good. He’s spent hours watching his own videos, analyzing for errors and ways he can improve, and he knows he looks elegant and easy on the ice. He knows he looks beautiful. 

When he turns around and returns to Shiro, still doing the crossovers, Shiro looks impressed, his smile wide but softer at the edges as Keith comes closer. 

“Impressive,” Shiro says.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Keith says. “But we can start here.” 

“Got it!” 

Keith frowns at him. “Do you, though?”

“I guess there’s only one way to find out!” Shiro says cheerfully. He’s having way too much fun with all this, Keith thinks. But it’s also adorable. 

Shiro wobbles his way through his first crossover. Shiro is usually so confident, so cool, so sweet— it’s a marvel to watch him just outright fumble his way through the very basics of figure skating. It feels so much like when Keith teaches classes for beginners, except his sole pupil is _Shiro._

Keith can’t laugh at Shiro, no matter how bumbling he manages to look. He knows it’s going to be so much worse once Keith has to try hockey. 

Shiro turns, his leg wobbling around him and very, very bent. 

“Okay,” Keith says. “Good start.” 

“Oof, that’s coach talk for ‘that was shit.’” Shiro chuckles. “Show me again, maybe?” 

Keith does so, doing a slow crossover, hearing the skid of Shiro’s skates as he follows behind him. They sway around the patch of ice, Keith exaggerating his movements so that Shiro can map the transition. 

Shiro looks laughably bad as he moves around the rink, but at least he’s keeping his balance this time. His legs aren’t straight, and his arms wave all off-center, but he also looks like he’s having fun with it. His smile is light and it doesn’t seem like artifice for the cameras. 

Keith’s glad for that. He knows all about Shiro’s perfectionism and how quickly he can self-deprecate when he isn’t instantly perfect at something. He knows how competitive Shiro is, too— you can’t be an Olympian without being competitive, after all, and it’s something they’ve bonded over in the past. 

But as Shiro whizzes by Keith in a facsimile of an Ina Bauer, grinning as he goes, Keith just delights in seeing Shiro having fun. He’s also impressed that Shiro remembers enough about figure skating to even attempt an Ina Bauer, as bad as it looks. 

“Straighten that arm!” he calls after Shiro. 

“Sorry! Never been very good at being straight!” Shiro calls back, barely managing to get the words out before he cracks up. He does manage to straighten his arm above his head a bit more. 

Keith snorts as he circles after him, following his trail of wobbly footwork. Clearly that was the joke he thought of earlier, finally unleashed for Keith’s amusement. 

“You have to loosen up,” Keith says, skidding to a halt behind Shiro when Shiro stops for him. He touches him before he’s even fully aware he’s doing it, slipping easily into instruction. He runs his hands up Shiro’s sides, far too close, far too gentle, and cups his biceps— so wide, he thinks, blushing— and positions him properly. 

“I’m loose,” Shiro says but he sounds a bit weak, and he’s definitely tense. 

“No,” Keith insists, cupping Shiro’s shoulders and trying to force them back down. “You have to loosen your shoulders.”

“My shoulders are loose!” 

“You have no neck at all!” Keith says, tapping his fingers against Shiro’s neck. 

He sees Shiro swallow. He sees the blush creeping up his cheeks. Shiro makes some aborted attempt to loosen his shoulders, but it’s more a shimmy than anything actually relaxing. 

“ _Shiro,_ ” Keith says, laughing at the absurdity of it. “You can’t actually be this tight!” 

Keith moves beneath Shiro’s outstretched arm so he’s in front of him, his back to Shiro. 

“You look like this,” Keith says, shoving his shoulders up towards his ears. “You have no neck. You _need_ a neck. Like this—” 

Again, he demonstrates, glancing over his shoulder to see how Shiro copies him. 

“Better?” Shiro asks, mimicking his pose. 

Keith turns to regard him. “Better. Just relax.” 

He lifts his hands, touching Shiro again— palms brushing over his shoulders and down his arms, positioning and straightening him out. Shiro doesn’t seem to be breathing, just holding his position as best he can and staring down at Keith. 

Keith bites his lip, looking back up at him. 

“I thought I was relaxed,” Shiro says, his voice a soft admittance. “Maybe I’m just cold. Too few layers, right?” 

_I feel naked without all the padding,_ he’d said. 

Keith blushes and snorts, trying very, very hard not to think about Shiro naked. He taps on Shiro’s shoulders until they slump a little, and lets his touch linger. He smooths his hands over Shiro’s wide shoulders, then darts them up to touch his neck. Just briefly, just for a breath, before he remembers himself and pulls his hands back. 

“You’re doing fine,” Keith says. He clears his throat, looking away. “Just remember to relax. Show off your neck.” 

Shiro arches his neck in an overdramatic arch, huffing. But then he starts skating again, moving through the moves Keith’s shown him. This time, there’s a sliver of elegance to the movements, just that added hint of poise. 

“Okay!” Keith calls, watching Shiro as he slides through an arabesque pose. “Better, better!” 

They carry on like this, with Shiro demonstrating his thorough lack of finesse and elegance, but seeming to have fun with it anyway, and with Keith trailing after him, ready to catch him if he falls. 

After a few more laps around the rink, Shiro manages a very tentative, but no less triumphant one-eighty-degree turn. He clears the ice for that half of a second and whoops like he’s just performed a triple axel. He’s so focused on it that he nearly slips right off his feet just skating normally. His arms flail out for balance, but he recovers.

Keith claps anyway. “Perfect, Shiro!” 

“Ha!” 

“You almost looked pretty,” Keith says because he knows it’ll make Shiro laugh harder. 

And it does, a loud, booming sound that punches out of him, like he’s shocked Keith would say it at all. Shiro’s laugh is infectious and Keith’s still not over it, no matter how many times he’s heard it today. 

“I’m plenty pretty!” Shiro yells back, clearly joking. But he has no idea just how right he is, Keith thinks, following after him like a hapless satellite. Shiro is _beautiful_ even when making a fool of himself. 

When Kinkade calls for them to pause so he can record their mini-interviews, Keith stops beside Shiro with hands on his hips. They pose for the camera while Shiro tries to catch his breath. Keith takes the water bottle one of the crew holds out to him, sipping absently. 

“It’s hard,” Shiro says to the camera when Kinkade poses the first question, wiping his brow. “You have to be balanced and focused, but also look elegant. I… definitely don’t look elegant.”

“You look great,” Keith cuts in quickly and then coughs, blushing. “I mean. You’re doing pretty well.” 

“Thanks, Keith,” Shiro says. “But I think I have a long way to go if I ever want to look as good on the ice as you do.” 

Keith hip-checks him, nudging gently against him. “You’re doing great, Shiro.” 

“Just one last part to shoot for the ice-skating portion,” Kinkade says. “Then we can take a short break and move on to the hockey.” 

“Sure thing,” Shiro says with a thumbs up. He winks at Keith again, and really Keith should stop feeling quite so devastated by the gesture considering how often Shiro’s done it today. “Then I really can show off.”

“Ha,” Keith breathes, his stomach already squirming in anticipation. “Until then… Show me what you’ve learned, Shiro.” 

Shiro’s routine is short, shaky, and made up mostly of him skating from one place to another. But he does manage a solid-enough spin, an only slightly unsteady arabesque, and a single toe loop that doesn’t send him crashing to the ground. There’s no denying that his form is shit, Keith thinks, with his unsteady arms and his bent knees, but he looks happy with himself as he skates across the ice, grinning at Keith. 

When he’s finished, he throws his arms up in the air like he’s just won the gold medal, jazz-hands all around as he cheers for himself. It makes Keith snort out helpless laughter. 

“I’m ready for the Olympics!” Shiro cheers to the camera. Keith claps for him. 

-

They pause for water, warming-up, and outfit changes. Keith lingers just off the ice, snacking on some trail mix as he waits for the controlled chaos of the crew to settle down around them. 

Shiro hip-checks him to announce his arrival to stand beside him, just barely the softest nudge. Keith grunts and blinks up at him to find Shiro just smiling back.

“I meant it,” Shiro says. “You looked really nice out there.” 

“Hang onto that because I’m going to look like shit trying to skate on your thin fucking blades,” Keith mumbles, chewing on some cashews. 

It makes Shiro snort. His hand slides up Keith’s back, squeezing his shoulder once. “You’ll be great. You always are.” 

Keith doesn’t stop blushing, even once he finishes his snack, drinks half his bottle of water, and slips into the locker room to get out of his costume and into the hockey gear. 

-

“Oh, fuck—” Keith gasps just as he steps out onto the ice, feeling like a newborn fawn on the hockey skates. Maybe, foolishly, he didn’t expect it to make _much_ of a difference. Keith feels like a kid again, learning to skate for the first time, too shaky-kneed and uncoordinated. All the padding he’s wearing feels too clunky. He’s a mess. 

He _knows_ that hockey skates are thinner than his, but the difference is so astounding that Keith can’t believe he nearly faceplants straight onto the ice. So much for being graceful and beautiful in Shiro’s eyes. 

Keith’s used to looking elegant on the ice. Suddenly, he’s certain he must look ridiculous. He wobbles again. 

Shiro catches his hands before he can start to fear he might fall. Shiro’s grinning at him, his eyes sparkling and looking perfectly at ease in his uniform. He squeezes Keith’s hands and even through the bulky gloves, Keith feels it. 

“You look good,” Shiro says. 

“I do not,” Keith says and does not pout. 

“You do,” Shiro says, softening. “You always do.”

He keeps saying things like that. Keith can barely handle it, too busy trying to remind himself that Shiro does not flirt with him and does not think of him as anything beyond a friend. He’s grateful for that friendship, of course, but his stupid, betraying heart can’t help but quiver a bit in response to Shiro’s words, to the softness of his smile and his hands in Keith’s. 

“Y- you say that now,” Keith says, “but just wait until I fall right on my ass.” 

“I’ll catch you,” Shiro says. “My turn to be the hero.” 

“Ha,” Keith breathes, feeling squirmy. 

“Alright, Shiro,” Kinkade calls, once again breaking the moment for Keith, reminding him in startling surety that they are not actually alone and fucking around for the hell of it, but being recorded. He keeps forgetting the cameras are even there. “Why don’t you give Keith the uniform.”

“The what?” 

“Oh!” Shiro says, skating to the side of the rink near the penalty box and dipping over the side to grab at something. Keith does not stare at his friend’s ass because he is a gentleman. 

Shiro returns quickly enough, hands behind his back. 

“Ta da,” Shiro says as he whips out the jersey. It’s Keith’s size but the production team’s embossed it with Shiro’s number and name and that, somehow, makes Keith so incredibly flustered that he can’t quite manage to say anything as Shiro holds it out.

When Keith doesn’t immediately reach for the jersey, Shiro tuts and skates closer to him, already scrunching the jersey up. 

“Here,” Shiro says, plucking off his gloves, “I’ll help you.”

“I—” 

Keith really doesn’t have time to protest before Shiro’s scooping the jersey over his head, helping to guide Keith’s face through the opening. Shiro hums, flipping Keith’s hair away from his eyes for him, his fingers dexterous and tragically distracting. 

“Arms next,” Shiro says and Keith remembers to use his limbs like a living, breathing human. He struggles a bit to get his padded-up arms through the sleeves, his shoulders constricted by the padding. But Shiro is patient as they struggle together.

“I feel like a kid,” Keith says.

“It’s hard with all the padding,” Shiro says, because of course he would be understanding of it even as Keith feels lowkey endeared and highkey mortified. “And now you look like a real hockey player.” 

Keith laughs, giving up on trying to move and just lets Shiro manhandle him, lifting his arms and guiding them through each sleeve. Shiro starts laughing, too, clearly amused by the stupidity of it all. 

“Helmet time,” Shiro says, scooping that up next. He holds it in one hand, his other hand reaching out to play with Keith’s hair again. 

The touch lingers, or at least it feels like it does for Keith. He holds his breath as Shiro’s fingers card through his hair easily, brushing it back from his face and behind his ears, letting it dust back against the collar of his jersey. 

“Should have brought a hair tie,” Keith grumbles. 

“I like your hair,” Shiro says, just another casual observation that leaves Keith devastated. Shiro says these things so easily. It’s why, for years, Keith’s been so certain that Shiro only views him as a friend— that these words aren’t flirting, just Shiro being friendly. Something he’d say to anyone. 

Shiro’s fingertip curls around one unruly lock of Keith’s hair and tugs, once, playful and sweet. 

And then he lets go to tuck the helmet up and ease it onto Keith’s head. He moves slow and careful, mindful not to clip Keith’s ears. The helmet is snug and Keith peers up at Shiro through the visor as he adjusts the length of the straps and buckles Keith in for him. 

“I feel like I’m in a cage,” Keith says. He can feel Shiro’s fingers just beneath his chin. 

“You’ll be grateful for it once pucks are flying at your face.”

“Are pucks going to be flying at my face?” Keith asks, alarmed.

“Nothing like that,” Shiro says. “I promise.” 

And, well, of course Keith believes him. He always believes Shiro. 

-

Just like with Keith walking Shiro through figure skating, the first half of the recordings for the hockey side of the video is mostly Shiro explaining to Keith and the camera just what they’ll be doing, what Keith will be learning, and why he’s learning it. 

“So, the hockey stick is one piece and made of carbon,” Shiro says, demonstrating the stick to Keith just as Keith did the skates earlier. “Each one has its own curve. Any player worth their salt will have an opinion on which one is better. Mine’s the pancake flipper.” 

To demonstrate what he means, he drops his stick down and taps at the puck. He makes it look easy as he scoops the puck up with his stick and flips it up into his hand. 

“Here,” Shiro says as he holds the puck out to Keith. “It’s pretty light. Feel it.” 

Keith can barely feel it in his hand with the thick gloves he wears, but he pretends to weigh it.

“How does it feel?” Shiro asks.

Keith tosses it at him so it pounces off Shiro’s well-padded chest. “How does that feel?” 

Shiro snorts as he catches the puck before it can hit the ground. “That’s what padding’s for.” He holds up the puck, pausing so the camera can zoom in. “It’s only about one-sixty grams, but it can move fast— and that’s why we wear the gear. You definitely don’t want this flying at your face.” 

Shiro drops the puck back down and holds his stick with both hands. 

Shiro hits Keith’s shins with his stick, looking at the camera as he defines what each piece of padding is and why it’s there. Keith wobbles on his skates. He pokes at Keith with his stick as he indicates each one and it makes Keith laugh even as he sways. He grabs onto the stick when a knock against his elbow pads makes him wobble a little dangerously. 

“Be gentler!” Keith demands.

“I’m always gentle, baby,” Shiro says and it’s— yeah, that has to be flirting. Shiro must be flirting with him. Keith feels his face start to blaze, unsure if it’s just _Shiro_ or if it’s just a consequence of their chemistry on camera. 

Keith pouts and yanks on the hockey stick when it starts poking at his side, dragging Shiro in a little closer. 

“We’re going to start the warm-ups now,” Shiro says, grinning. 

He demonstrates the inside edge and outside edge, slowly weaving as he follows the curve of his hockey stick. Where before he looked wobbly and uncertain, now he looks confident as he moves— elegant in his own way. 

Of course Shiro is beautiful in his element. 

“Fuck!” Keith calls, amused as he attempts to follow Shiro and instead slips and falls right onto his ass. He really, really didn’t think the blades would make a difference. 

Shiro doesn’t laugh as he goes back to him, pulling him onto his feet, his expression sympathetic. “Sorry. I said I’d catch you.” 

“Better stay close to me, then.” 

And Shiro does, sticking dutifully to Keith’s side as they work through the drills— stretching, warming up, and practicing movement with the padding. Shiro is, of course, perfectly earnest, maybe worried that Keith’s hurt himself. 

It’s cute, but unneeded. 

Keith thumps his hands together, the thick padding of the gloves hardly making a sound as they knock together. 

“So when do we get physical, then?” Keith crows and skates into Shiro’s chest. It’s barely a bump, but he hears Shiro go _oof_ anyway. 

He blinks at Keith but must see the spark in his eyes, because it takes only a second for his eyes to narrow and his smile to curve into a smirk. 

“Go ahead and try,” Shiro says. 

They skate shoulder to shoulder, and it’s clear that Shiro’s egging him on. He can see the glint in his eye, the tease there— and Keith weaves away enough to get some momentum before he goes crashing back against Shiro. 

He bounces right off him, of course, because Shiro is strong and large and thick even without the padding, but as Keith shoulder-checks him, Shiro gasps dramatically and then yells, diving against the rink’s wall. 

“He got me!” he yells, and it’s too loud, too overdramatic. “I’m injured! Critically!” 

“Don’t be such a baby!” Keith protests. 

“Foul, foul!” 

Keith scoffs and drifts closer towards him, trying to shoulder-check him for a second time. He nearly trips because he’s laughing too hard. Shiro braces himself against the wall and laughs right back. It’s stupid. Keith _really_ feels like a little kid. 

“Okay, okay,” Shiro says, his hand finding Keith’s shoulder to steady them both. “Come on. We have to do some pylon drills.” 

Keith groans. “No, let’s keep doing this so we don’t have to see how bad I am at hockey.” 

“You’ll be fine,” Shiro assures him. 

Shiro weaves easily along the ice, setting out pylon cones for them. He explains he steps— skate through the pylons with no puck, then with the puck, then just focusing on stickhandling. Then shooting. 

Shiro demonstrates for Keith, slipping between the little cones easily, making it look effortless. He’s graceful on his own skates, fluid and gorgeous even in the bulky padding, his control of the puck unparalleled as he moves. He counts out loud for Keith, calling to him, and skates his way to the goal, shooting the puck dead center. 

“Easy, right?” Shiro says with a grin as he skates back to Keith. 

“Totally easy,” Keith says, already knowing he’s going to fall on his ass again. 

He doesn’t, but only barely. 

Just as he predicted, Keith is pathetic on the ice. He can navigate the pylons fine but focusing on the puck is too difficult. He taps too hard and it skids away. He taps too lightly, and he has to stop his momentum to catch it behind him. It means he misses some of the turns entirely, going too wide and too wobbly. He feels like a beginner all over again, just a dumb kid clinging to his parents’ hands as they scooted him around the ice. 

Keith is, of course, awful at the stick-handling. There’s a joke in there, he’s sure, but he’s not sure if it’s appropriate for the Olympic Channel, or appropriate to say to his friend who he’s maybe flirting with, maybe not. 

He glances at Shiro, who’s grinning at him. “Nice stick handling, Keith.” 

Keith blushes, ducks his head, and hits the puck as hard as he can. It goes flying to the left of the goal, not even close. 

Keith casts Shiro a mournful look and then, slowly, lowers himself belly-down onto the ice. He’s playing it up, he’s sure, very aware of the cameras. He hears Shiro laughing, though. Shiro’s laughing so much today— it makes Keith feel floaty. 

“I give up!” Keith yells. “Go on without me.” 

“Like Keith Kogane, Olympic Gold Medalist, would ever give up,” Shiro says as he skates to him. He’s teasing— they’re experts at teasing at this point and the cameras must be eating it up— but the words are earnest, encouraging, and flush Keith with warmth. He doesn’t protest as Shiro reaches down and pulls him back onto his feet effortlessly. 

“Noooooo…” 

“You need a little work,” Shiro says, “but have you _ever_ played hockey before?” When Keith shakes his head, Shiro shrugs. “Exactly. You’re doing really well for your first time.” 

He takes Keith’s hands, leading him back towards the starting point for the drill. He skates backwards, not taking his eyes off Keith, his smile light as they look at one another. Keith feels a little floaty. 

This time, Keith manages to get the puck towards the goal, although when he shoots, the goalie knocks it away easily with his kneepad. Still, it had some force to it, so Keith can call that a win. His puck-shooting is definitely better than Shiro’s arabesque. 

“The puck runs away!” Keith calls to the camera when he remembers it exists, zoomed in and following him. 

“That’s the hard part,” Shiro agrees, partly for Keith’s sake and partly for the camera’s sake. “Keeping the puck close, having it under control all the time. That comes with more practice, practice, practice.”

By the end of it, Keith thinks he’s really gotten the hang of it. The puck stays near his stick and he picks up some solid speed, used to the skates now and also determined to get at least one goal in. 

By his fourth shot, he managed to slip the puck past the goalie, just barely. But it counts. 

Keith isn’t too proud to celebrate like he just won the entire game for his team. He yells to the nosebleeds and shakes his shoulders, the approximation of a dance. He goes down on his knees, skidding across the ice as Shiro laughs and yells with him, sliding onto his knees and crashing into Keith with a hug, equally as excited for him.

It's so stupid, all things considered. But Keith still feels delighted as he holds Shiro tight and together they go tumbling onto the ice. Keith falls onto his back as Shiro flops onto him, pinning him to the ice. They’re both laughing and clinging to each other, sticks everywhere and padding nearly crushing down on Keith’s lungs.

He grins up at Shiro and wants to kiss him. He’s used to that feeling, of course, and even if he were going to act on it, he couldn’t with both of them wearing their helmets. 

But for the first time, looking up at Shiro, he thinks that maybe he’d actually do it if he had the chance. That he could just cradle Shiro’s strong jaw with his palm and guide him down. He thinks, maybe, that Shiro would let him and it’d be okay. 

Shiro’s expression is soft even as he grins, eyes on Keith. His body is a gentle press against his. It’s just them, there, together. 

“Shiro,” he says, voice going threadbare and too soft. 

He watches Shiro’s expression relax above him, visible even through his visor. “You did really well,” Shiro says, his smile all soft and his eyes gentler still. “But I already knew you’d be great.” 

And, really, Keith’s heart was never going to be able to handle something like that. He’s flustered and he knows it must show on his face, but maybe that’s just the strangeness of the day that makes Keith think that, maybe, he really doesn’t have to be unsure about showing these feelings to Shiro. 

“I had a good teacher,” Keith says. He licks his lips. “I’m— everything is better with you.” 

Shiro looks struck, but he doesn’t recoil at the words. Keith’s heart thunders, but Shiro just breathes out, expression serene. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Keith breathes in, aware still of the cameras. He hears Kinkade calling to his crew, directing them. He thinks of touching Shiro’s cheek, of kissing him. But no. Not here. Not now. 

They finally manage to untangle themselves from the ice, Keith helping Shiro back onto his feet and the two of them skating arm-in-arm back towards the set-up with the cameras when Kinkade waves them over. 

He asks a few questions for them, as a sort of wrap-up to the day. 

“He really improved, speed-wise, handling-wise, even that last shot was amazing!” Shiro gushes to the camera. “We’d be lucky to have him on the team.”

“Yeah right,” Keith says, but accepts the compliment all the same. He butts his head against Shiro’s shoulder, nuzzling. “You’re just flattering me now.” 

“No way,” Shiro says. “Most of hockey is just confidence.” He nudges his shoulder back against Keith, his smile sweet and boyish and devastating to Keith’s dumb heart. “Anybody would be lucky to have you, Keith. On their team.” 

“Yeah,” Keith says. “You too. Anybody would be… lucky to have you, Shiro. On a team. Um.” 

He fiddles with his helmet, unable to get it off until Shiro gently removes his gloves and unclasps it for him. 

Kinkade asks them a few more questions and then calls it. He grins at them both, gives a sage thumbs up and says, “Thanks for all your hard work, guys.” 

He shakes hands with them both, nods, and turns to help his crew pack up, leaving the two athletes to their own devices. Keith’s already daydreaming about the hot bath he’ll take tonight to soak his muscles. This was a surprisingly vigorous workout in the end. 

They climb off the ice. Keith’s quick to get out of his jersey and padding, grateful to take off the hockey skates once he’s slipped on the blade-guards. His feet feel achy as he stretches out, wriggling his toes. He plucks up his thermal and zips it back up again with a sigh. 

A heavy hand falls on his shoulder, jarring Keith from his thoughts. 

“Hey,” Shiro says, voice low and nearly inaudible over the sound of all the crew packing up. “Want to skate around for a bit? If you’re not too tired.” 

“Oh—”

“Unless you have somewhere you need to be,” Shiro adds quickly, tilting his head. “Don’t feel you need to stick around just because I asked.” 

“No! No.” Keith shakes his head. He tugs his regular skates towards him, already loosening the laces to slip his feet back in. “I can hang out.” 

“Great!” Shiro says. He’s still wearing his skates, although he’s changed back into his street clothes. He takes a step back, grinning. “I’ll be waiting for you.” 

-

Keith finishes packing up his bag, laces up his usual skates, and darts back onto the ice. Shiro’s skating a lazy, slow loop around the rink, but brightens as he spots Keith. He quickens his pace to glide back over to Keith. 

“Rare for me to have a rink all to myself,” Shiro says as explanation. “Figured it’d be good for us to have a little cool-down, right?”

“Sure,” Keith agrees. “It’s not like I hate the idea of skating around, you know.”

“Right. I don’t need to justify,” Shiro says, chuckling. “Got it.” 

They skate around for a few minutes, just lazy circles around one another. It’s haphazard and without direction, but there’s a nice freedom to that lack of uniformity. It’s just them. No drills, no stretching, no practice. Just skating. The very thing that Keith fell in love with all those years ago, long before he ever thought he’d be an Olympian. 

It feels like that, sometimes, just being on the ice: like freedom, like unrelenting joy. He glances over at Shiro and thinks he seems that same feeling reflecting in his eyes. 

“After this,” Shiro says, interrupting the easy silence even with his voice cast low. Their hands bump together, just a brush of knuckles against knuckles. “We… we could maybe grab dinner or something? If you want?” 

Something in his tone makes Keith hold his breath, pausing in their skating to look up at him. Shiro slows his skating so that Keith can slip to his side, and they span the full length of the rink together, circling the circumference counterclockwise. For a moment, there’s only the sound of their blades scraping across the ice. 

“Sure,” Keith says when he realizes he’s paused too long. “Dinner would be nice.” 

They go quiet again after that, peaceful as they move together. Neither of them says much of anything, which Keith doesn’t mind. He’s never been a big talker and they just spent a lot of time talking. Shiro’s street clothes consist of the tight-fitting pants and a sweater, along with thin gloves he wears to stave off the chill of the rink but not impede movement. It’s nice just to watch him— distracting in its own way. 

Shiro is, of course, exceptionally pretty. His silver hair glitters in the overhead lights. He’s like a dream, like some sort of snow prince or something. Keith’s always thought so, since the first moment he saw him, all those years ago at their first Olympics. 

“That was pretty fun, huh?” Shiro finally asks when the silence stretches so long, his voice honeyed and warm enough to break the quiet on the ice. His hand brushes over Keith’s again. 

“Yeah,” Keith says. “It was nice.” 

They keep skating, their movements easy. Shiro’s hand brushes against Keith’s for the third time. Keith looks up at Shiro through his bangs to find Shiro already watching him. 

Shiro licks his lips. “Can I confess something?” 

“What’s up?”

Shiro takes a deep breath, like he’s bracing himself. “So… I only agreed to do this and make a fool of myself because I knew it was going to be with _you_ ,” Shiro says and blushes. “Is that weird?” 

Keith laughs. He can’t help it, the sound just punching out of him. He shakes his head at Shiro’s perplexed look. “Sorry— just, I only agreed to do it if they promised to get you as my partner.” He lets the words sink in, tucking a piece of his hair behind his ear with a nervous chuckle. “So. If you’re weird, then I’m weird, too.” 

Shiro skates to a stop and Keith circles back around before he can skate too far away, curving around him in a slow, arcing circle. Shiro contemplates him for a beat, breathing in and back out again. 

“So… we’re either both weird or we’re both not weird,” Shiro says. 

“Guess so.” 

Shiro chuckles, his cheeks a pretty pink. And then he reaches out to take Keith’s hand. Not for balance, not for any sort of playful teasing. He just takes it and holds it, seemingly just for the sake of holding it. Keith swallows, the blush rising over his cheeks and settling at the tips of his ears. 

“So, dinner,” Shiro says, flipping around so he’s skating backwards, directing Keith forward. He doesn’t let go of Keith’s hand, guiding him along. They follow the curve of the rink’s perimeter, although Keith hardly notices, his eyes steady on Shiro’s. 

“Dinner,” Keith says.

“Is there anything in particular you’re in the mood for?” 

“Not really,” Keith says. “Anything’s fine.” 

Shiro hums. “There’s this really nice place nearby,” Shiro says, glancing over his shoulder once to make sure they aren’t about to careen into a wall, changing trajectory as they curve wide along the rink’s edge. “But I don’t think we’re dressed right for it, really.” 

“My sparkly pants aren’t proper dress code?” Keith asks, letting Shiro guide them along as he sticks out his free leg, shaking it so the light catches on his many rhinestones. 

“Not quite, I don’t think,” Shiro agrees, laughing. 

“You want to take me somewhere that fancy?” Keith’s mouth twitches. “I don’t really need fancy.”

“Maybe you deserve to have a nice dinner, though,” Shiro says. “And my treat— um.” His hand flexes in its hold around Keith’s. “You don’t have to pay, I mean. If it’s fancy. If you have a budget.” 

“You make it sound like a date,” Keith says and holds his breath. He’s not quite sure what his face is doing, not quite sure if he looks too eager or too earnest, if it’ll repel Shiro. 

But Shiro’s expression ripples and his smile turns shy. He looks young again, unsure but not letting go of Keith’s hand. They’ve stopped actively pushing off their skates, just gliding across the ice as they slowly lose momentum. Time seems to slow with them. 

Shiro takes a deep breath. “Do you want it to be a date?” 

It’s a guarded question. But the fact that he asked it at all gives Keith hope. They’ve been teasing all day, but Shiro doesn’t turn this into a joke, doesn’t snort and say, _Oh yeah, baby, let me take you on a date._ His expression is hopeful, Keith thinks. Or maybe he’s just hoping it’s hopeful. 

Keith is an Olympian, though. He’s always been one to take risks. “Yeah,” Keith says. “I do.” 

“Great!” Shiro says, like the sound just bursts right out of him. He immediately gets flustered at his outburst. “I mean,” he says, ducking his head. “Good. Yeah. Yeah, me too.” 

Keith’s mouth twitches, but relief and delight at once. He reaches out his other hand and grabs Shiro’s, holding them both as he pushes off his skates and sends them both moving again. Shiro seems emboldened by the response, squeezing Keith’s hands. 

“You seemed like you had fun today,” Shiro says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh this much.” 

“I don’t usually laugh this much,” Keith says, agreeing. “But… I had fun. I always have fun with you.” 

“Me too,” Shiro says. “With you. I wasn’t even getting into my own head about being perfect.” 

Keith smiles and holds his hands tight. “You looked like you were having fun, too.” 

“I was,” Shiro says. “I always do when we hang out.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

“Me too,” Keith says. And then he chuckles, the sound light and giddy. “God. We sound like fucking teenagers.” 

Shiro laughs, too. “What?” 

“Asking me on a date, holding hands, saying you like hanging out…” Keith shrugs. “I feel like a dumb teenager.” 

“Is that a good or bad thing?” 

Keith shrugs again, squeezing Shiro’s hands and then tilting so that they spin in a circle, looking at one another. He whips Shiro around along the ice, building momentum, and it makes Shiro bark out a surprised laugh, tightening his hold and hanging on tight. 

“You asked me on a date,” Keith says, marveling. 

Shiro blushes, shaking his head. “Yeah. I’ve wanted to for a while.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “I asked you out once before, but… I didn’t make it clear enough, so it just turned into a hang-out.” 

“What?” Keith asks, eyes bugging out. “ _When_?” 

“Pyeongchang,” Shiro says. “I wanted to take you out and we ended up doing karaoke instead.” 

“Oh my god,” Keith says, mortified. 

But Shiro just looks amused, laughing. “It was my fault for not making it clear. Or, well, I figured… Maybe you just wanted to be a friends?” He bites his lip. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I didn’t… bring it up.” 

“I’ve had a crush on you for years,” Keith says, fumbling a little as he admits to the words, watching Shiro’s eyes widen. “I just… I got good at hiding it.” 

Shiro smiles. “Or I’m just an idiot.” 

“Or both,” Keith says, and it makes Shiro huff quietly, his smile soft. Hopeful. “Why ask me now, if you thought I just wanted to be friends?” 

They’ve stopped skating entirely, just looking at one another. Shiro doesn’t let go of his hands. Keith makes no move to pull away, either, just looking up at Shiro, memorizing the way he looks like this— sweet, gentle, his eyes bright, their cheeks flushed with embarrassment and the rink’s chill. 

“I, uh… got the vibe today,” Shiro says. “I hoped it wasn’t wishful thinking.” 

Keith contemplates the words, looking into Shiro’s eyes. 

“Yeah…” Keith whispers. “We’re both idiots.” 

“Quite the pair,” Shiro says agreeably. 

Shiro smiles, shy and sweet, and it pushes Keith into action. He tugs on Shiro’s hands, yanking him down. 

He kisses him then, just a gentle slide of his mouth against his. Shiro’s nose is cold as it presses against his cheek, but somehow that’s sweet, too, just to be here with him in the center of an ice rink. Just the two of them, just the soft hush of Shiro’s breath as he gasps in surprise and then presses closer immediately, seeking Keith. 

Shiro’s hand lifts, cupping Keith’s cheek— cool metal and polymer prosthesis against Keith’s burning cheek, and he angles him as they kiss, his lips pillowing against Keith’s. It makes Keith shiver, and not from the cold. He moves closer, looping his arm around the back of Shiro’s neck. He holds on, kissing him. 

“That’s better,” Keith whispers against his mouth when he pauses to take the littlest breath, his mouth ghosting against Shiro’s parted lips. 

When they draw away properly, Shiro’s eyes are so impossibly soft, gentle as he looks at Keith. “Yeah… Yeah. Better.” 

Keith’s expression must be helpless— besotted and endeared. He doesn’t care. This feels like its own victory. 

Shiro licks his lips. “I still owe you a dinner.” 

“Guess you do,” Keith agrees, his fingers petting at the back of Shiro’s neck, feeling the pleasant buzz of his undercut beneath his fingertips. “Or…”

“Or?” Shiro asks, eyes sparkling with delight. His hand’s still pressed to Keith’s burning face, thumb swiping once across his cheekbone. 

“Or you could keep kissing me,” Keith says. “Just a thought.”

Shiro pretends to think, humming. “A very good thought.” 

And then he dips down to kiss Keith again. The kiss is a bit difficult to get started with both of them grinning like fools, but once Keith stops giggling, he manages to get lost in the soft press of Shiro’s lips to his, the hush of his breath and the curve of his smile as they kiss. 

Keith sinks into that feeling, far from cold now.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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